


The One Where Bob and Ryan Are  Failboats

by nev_longbottom



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:47:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nev_longbottom/pseuds/nev_longbottom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan is really bad at flirting and Bob is super oblivious.</p><p>Alternative Title:  The one where Gerard earns two cartons of cigarettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Bob and Ryan Are  Failboats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/gifts).



> Written two years ago for a good friend at like, 1 AM because the world needed more Bob/Ryan.

"Whoops. I'm so clumsy. Let me just pick that up."

Bob's in the middle of putting his kit on the dolly when a tiny guy walks right into him. Bob looks down to see a bright yellow capo on the ground.

"Let me get that for you," Bob says, automatically squatting to pick it up. Whoever the mystery kid was, guy must have been really out of it not to notice Bob standing there. Bob knows he's kind of... big and hard to miss.

The kid nearly falls over trying to shove Bob's hand out of the way as he reaches for the capo. "No really. I've got it," he says.

Bob glances up. The kid's eyes are practically raccooned in thick blue makeup; it makes his Bambi eyes look huge. Still, they're nice eyes, wary at the edges, and his tiny hint of a smile makes up for the paint job. The skin on his face looks red enough that Bob wants to cover him in sunblock.

Bob stands up and shuffles back a couple steps. If the kid's got it, the kid's got it. Bob can't help but be a little concerned if the kid has managed to get heat stroke. Before he works up the nerve to ask, Cortez kicks him in the shins. "Move it. Soundcheck in fifteen, Bryar. Quit flirting."

Bob turns around to flick him off real quick. When he glances back, the kid's straightening up and snapping his right hand.

The poor guy probably doesn't even know what he's doing.

"Do you want some water?" Bob asks.

The kids blinks and possibly turns even redder. "It didn't work," he mutters to himself before taking off in the direction he came from.

Bob wishes he could have at least made sure the guy got some sunblock.

He hears Cortez snickering behind him. "Don't laugh at the scene kid with heatstroke," Bob mumbles. "He's going to faint or something if doesn't get some liquids in him." If anything Cortez laughs even harder, moving a crate of cords on top of Bob's bass drum case.

"Dude, that was the bend and snap," Cortez snickers. "That kid was trying to pick you up."

Bob looks at Cortez like he's crazy. "No, really. That was heatstroke. Not funny, asshole."

*

"Oh my god, Ryan, how do you fuck up the bend and snap?" Brendon says, horrified.

Ryan scowls and disappears into his bunks to think of a new plan.

**

"Ryan," Jon says in a calm, careful voice. "Please step away from the stove."

Ryan scowls. "No, I can't. It has to broil for another ten minutes and then I have to stir it counterclockwise/clockwise, and I can't look away or I'll screw it up."

He doesn't turn around. He can hear his band conspiring. God. One time he spends 37 hours straight trying to make the perfect creme brule, and no one lets him near the oven again. He can still hear Pete's horrified voice saying, "Please, for the love of Patrick... It's a hotel night." Seriously, if he turns around he might mess up the stirring pattern, and he is three minutes away from finishing the curry.

Spencer's voices cuts in from somewhere over his left shoulder. "We're asking you to stop, because we love you. Also, you're making the bus smell like Thai food, and I fucking hate Thai food."

Ryan doesn't bother answering him. He turns off the heat, and as fast as he can manage, he pulls out a piece of tupperware, putting a bed of rice inside and then pouring the bubbling curry over it. He snaps on the lid and turns around to three concerned faces.

"This is Plan B."

Jon groans, Spencer slaps his hands to his face and Brendon does what he does best: look disturbed in the most unattractive way possible.

"Ryan, you can't keep taking advice on getting Bob from chick flicks," Spencer snaps.

Brendon nods, "If you took this idea from the chef who cooks her emotions into food to try and make the dude love her, it's not gonna work. She had magic and like, a lobster familiar. You've got a guitar and Spencer Smith's hips. You are not Simply Irrisistable."

Spencer rolls his eyes and walks off the bus. "These hips are mine," he yells on his way out.

"If you guys back off, you can have the rest of the food."

Job gives the pot a greedy look, "Good luck, Ross. Go forth with my blessing."

Brendon purses his lips but doesn't add anything.

*

"Hey guys, Bob's stalker kid is back!" Cortez yells into the back of the bus. Frank and Jamia come running with Gerard and Mikey bringing in the rear.

"Where's Bob?" Gerard leans past Cortez in the passenger's seat to catch a glimpse.

Bob scowls from his smoking perch on the bus steps. He stands up, giving everyone a disapproving look. "I'm closing this door," Bobtells them, glaring as he shuts the steps.

"Hi, Bob."

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the heatstroke kid standing where the door had been. He looked a little better, less red. A lightning bolt stretches halfway across his face, ending right above the kiss in the right hand corner of heatstroke kid's mouth.

If Bob believed in romantic Peter Pan notions or whatever.

"Nice to meet you," Bob hears himself saying before his brain can even register. He holds out his hand automatically.

The guy just looks at it, then at the Tupperware in his hands, then back at Bob's outstretched hand. "My name is Ross. Ryan," the guy - Ross- says awkwardly.

Bob pulls his hand back. "It's nice to meet you, Ross Ryan. Sorry about the uh, hand, Ross. I didn't mean to, umm," Bob feels his face heat up. "That's a big box you have there."

He can hear Frank's bark of laughter through the door. He wishes he could hit himself for saying something that stupid.

"You should test it," Ross says. "Taste test it, I mean. It's food. For eating."

"I just ate," Bob says before he can stop himself. Ross deflates so quickly Bob slaps his hand to his face, poking himself in the eye with his cigarette butt. "Ow, um, I mean, I haven't had dinner yet? Usually we're not allowed to accept fanmade food, but you're like, a merch guy, right? I've seen you around on the tour."

Ross nods awkwardly and holds out the box. There's a yellow stain on Ross' sleeve and a strong smell of Indian food. Fuck, Bob's never been able to handle spicy food. Bob's about to politely turn him down when another wild bark of Iero laughter comes from the bus, this time with Jamia's nasal laugh along side it.

Ross turns a dark red color, and Bob can't stand the thought of Ross being unhappy. "Your box smells good," he says and takes it, pausing just long enough to flick his cigarette at the ground. Bob feels like a raging moron. Your box smells good? What the hell was he thinking?

"Thanks," Ross says before looking at Bob right in the eye and walking away backward.

Bob doesn't know if he should maintain eye contact or look at the box or what so he tries to walk back on the bus - and slams his face into the closed door. He doesn't look back to see if Ross is watching him. He opens the door quickly and climbs in so he can punch everyone laughing hysterically at him.

*

Jon looks up from the computer screen. "Hey, Ryan," he says with an easy smile. "How'd it go?"

Ryan sits down heavily. "He thinks I'm Ross Ryan the merch boy, and he said my box smelled good."

Brendon doesn't skip a beat from where he's playing on his acoustic. "His boxes bring all the boys to the yard."

It just goes to show how well Jon fits with Panic when he doesn't even blink at Ryan punching Brendon in the arm.

*

Ryan almost forgets about the actual gigging portion of his life in all the ridiculousness. He's nearly late to sound-check finishing a marinade for Plan Bob, Step Two. It's not until he's trying to find a clean channel on his amp that he realizes he's not even really at Step Two. Step Two would have involved a date. He's at Step One and a Half, really.

He's sulking over it on his side of the stage for about half the set. That's how long it takes him to notice Mikey Way on the side stage.

"Jesus Christ!" Ryan snaps right after Brendon wails the opening lyrics to 'Time to Dance.' It sounds intentional but Jon knows better and sends Ryan a concerned look.

"Mikey Fucking Way!" Ryan mouths at him and bobs his chin in Mikey's direction. Mikey twitches a couple fingers in Ryan's direction, then goes back to texting on his cell phone.

Ryan dashes over as soon as the set is done, guitar cord trailing after him. Before he can even say anything like, "Hi," or "I love you," or "I tried to get your signature tattooed to my chest," Mikey cuts him off.

"Theoretically, how much would Bob have to put out for you to cook again." Ryan's mouth drops open a little. Behind them, Brendon is staring with starstruck eyes.

"I, uh-"

"Because Pete says second base, and Frank says third, but Jamia swears you'll hold out for a home run." Mikey looks down at his cell phone and frowns a little, pressing a couple buttons. "Gabe says first."

Ryan's mouth drops open even wider. Jon takes the opportunity to throw a skittle at him but he misses.

Once Ryan gets a handle on himself, he considers Mikey's words carefully. "If I bring gnocchi to your bus, will you be able to get all the My Chem guys to give us a few minutes alone?"

Mikey tilts his head to the side, "Jamia will take care of Frank. Alicia and I get paid extra."

"Done." Ryan moves to shake his hand, but Mikey keeps both hands on his Sidekick and stares at Ryan like Ryan just picked his nose. Ryan tries to pass off the hand gesture as a clumsy wave. All this humiliation, Ryan reminds himself, is worth it he if wins Bob.

"Oh, and word of advice," Mikey adds. "Bob is kind of thick. Be obvious about what you want." Mikey takes off after that, disappearing almost instantly.

"I can be obvious." Ryan says to himself. Brendon bursts out laughing behind him.

*

Bob knows something's up the minute Alicia hooks her arm around Jamia's shoulders and offers to take her out for a manicure, her treat. The police siren goes off in his head and he can hear the inner child yelling, "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" He's never known a chick bass player to risk blisters on her fingers for a manicure.

Next thing he knows, Gerard and Frank have been roped into the spa adventure, Ray and Mikey have arrangements to head to game stop and the entire bus is emptied out in twenty minutes or less. It's not just eerie, it's suspicious since even Cortez' porn has been put away.

Cortez' porn is never put away. Even that one time Helena came to look at their tour bus there were copies of Buck Angel movies everywhere.

Bob is almost totally sure this is going to end in some kind of horrible prank when the door opens.

It's Ross Ryan, holding another big opaque tupperware container. Bob's pretty startled to see this time he's only wearing black eyeliner. With his short messy hair, tight jeans, suspenders and collared shirt he looks like the 1920's jailbait temptor from hell.

Bob swallows hard.

"Hi, Ross. Fancy meeting you here," Bob bites his lip ring. His brain insists he move so he shuffles to the kitchenette and starts scrounging through the cupboards. "Can I get you a drink or something?"

"No, I'm fine. Mikey gave me the code. I have a s-sausage delivery," Ross says, stumbling a little over the words.

Bob can feel his face warming up. He keeps his back turned to Ross. The kid was probably just dropping off some food. After all, he gave Bob all that curry and what ever. Mikey gave him the fucking code for christsake. Bob is doomed. He grabs a water bottle from the fridge.

"Mikey and Alicia took off a couple minutes ago. The whole bus really. They won't be back for hours." Bob feels a small twinge of hurt at that. No one had even asked if he wanted to tag along. Sure he would have told them hell no but it was that thought that counts and they didn't think of him at all.

Ross, confusingly enough, looked almost pleased at that prospect. Years of living with Mikey had given Bob the ability to read tiny facial tics like billboards.

He really liked Ross' billboards. Oh fuck, now Bob's even thinking like a moron.

"So, it's just you and me, all alone on a bus?" Ryan puts down the tupperware. "You should show me your bunk. I bet it's nice."

Ross glances past Bob, turning his neck a little. The top buttons of his shirt are open and Bob can see a tiny hint of chest hair when Ryan leans towards him. "Yeah, it's a nice." Bob stammers. "It's under Ray. He talks."

Ross frowns a little. and then slowly takes off his suspenders. "I think you should show me," he says, batting his eyelashes slowly.

He's nearly half hard at the thought of stripping Ross down and bending him over his bunk. Oh god. Quick, say something, he thinks. "Do you have something in your eye?" Bob asks, desperately.

"No, I'm fine. You know what, I'm going to go home. You should have some of the gnocchi," Ross mutters. He slams the door when he leaves.

Bob buries his head in his hands. He's doomed.

*

No one asks why Ryan's back early. It's obvious.

"Cassie thinks you should just ask him out on a date." The guys glare at Jon. He raises his hands and shrugs. "I think you should dress like a mariachi and sing songs of love at his bus. Cassie's the one who wants you to stop being passive about it."

Brendon splashes water unhappily from the sink. "Italian food is not passive. It's vengence in dishwashing." Normally, Ryan does wait until Brendon's turn to wash dishes for his cooking extravaganzas but was tonight a coincidence. Tonight, it was supposed to be Step Two and Three combined.

Ryan considers his options briefly and turns to Jon. "Do you think minstrel is an acceptable alternative to mariachi? I think I can borrow a mandolin from the Dresden Dolls."

"That is it. I've had it with this insanity. I'm calling Pete," Spencer storms into the back lounge and slams the door shut behind him.

Ryan wonders if he should be worried and then goes back to being sensible. "So, love songs are mostly A minor, right? Or should I just sing Poison?"

*

Spencer calls Pete. Pete texts Mikey. Mikey calls Gerard.

Gerard is concerned.

*  
Meanwhile...

Ryan tries the minstrel idea. That night, Bob gives him twenty dollars for busking. Ryan abandons the minstrel idea.

*

"Bob, I'm concerned about you." Gerard places his hand on top of Bob's hand, which would have been a comforting move coming from anyone but Gerard.

It's disturbingly like looking into the eyes of his mother, back when Mom first started noticing her son's loner tendencies and started worrying about her chances of grandchildren.

"I just want you to know, Bob Bryar, that it's okay to be loved."

And it goes to eleven.

"What?"

Gerard squeezes his hand over the tiny table. He almost looks sad. "Mikey and I have been talking. There's a very nice guy over on the Panic at the Disco bus who just wants to court you, but you won't allow him."

Bob frowns. "Have you been talking to Cortez? Really, that first time was heatstroke."

"And the second time?"

Bob remembers pouty lips and is momentarily distracted. "What? Oh, right. He's like a chef guy. He just wanted someone to taste test his stuff?"

Gerard shakes his head sadly. God, Bob hates it when Gerard does the concerned thing. His eyes get glassy, like they're full of tears and seeing him talk out of one side of his mouth while smoking out the other is so maiden aunt that it hurts.

"No, Bob," Gerard says sincerely. "That was love. He dressed as a minstrel and sang "Every Rose Has Its Thorns" for love. Mikey got everyone on the bus to give you two a night alone together to sort things out, and you didn't even provide Ryan Ross the closure of turning him down."

And it's like a choir of angels descend in Bob's head. "That's why he keep trying to get me to show him my bunk! The bend and snap, the food, the music-"

Gerard taps the end of his cigarette over the ash tray, nodding sympathetically. "Well, at least I've finally solved the mystery of Why Bob Never Gets Laid. You're kind of thick. Even I know when a bendy nineteen year old is throwing themselves at me."

"He's legal?"

Gerard nods. "The only thing you have left to ask yourself, Robert ..." Gerard says earnestly. "... is do you believe in love?"

Bob doesn't hesitate for a moment. He leaves for the Panic bus.

"Yep, the Phoebe Bouffay routine gets 'em every time." Gerard takes hums a couple bars of his favorite song, "...smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you ..."

*

A few careful questions lead Bob to a small tour bus on the edge of the parking lot. The door is wide open so he doesn't have to stand outside the bus like a creep, waiting to be let in. It isn't until he's standing in the middle of a lounge space being stared at by tiny elfin boys playing Guitar Hero that he remembers that walking in is just as creepy.

Ross is standing in front of the TV in a tiny pair of shorts and a ratty t-shirt, eyes wide open. "Oh my god, I'm not dressed," he says, clutching guitar controller to his chest. "Bob?"

Bob's mouth goes dry. "So you wanna go on a date?"

Ross flushes red all the way down his collar and turns to stare at the screen. "Maybe."

"Oh, okay," Bob's pretty sure that was a flat out rejection. "I'll just ... leave now."

The smallest of the boys jumps up, "Wait! That was Ryan Ross for yes. He's almost as bad at this as you are."

Bob looks back up with hope. "Really?" He can't be totally to blame if they're both really bad at this.

Ross turns back toward Bob but doesn't look up from the ground. "I could go for a latte."

"Yeah?" Bob smiles, taking a step closer.

Ross looks up and smiles back. All the angry defensiveness melts off his shoulders and Bob wants to see him smile like that every day. "May I kiss you, Ross?"

The smile gets even bigger. "My name is Ryan and yes, you may."

Bob leans in close, slipping one hand under the guitar strap and one in Ryan's hair. He leans in slowly and leaves one, small chaste kiss at the corner of Ryan's mouth.

One of the other boys sigh in the background.

Bob leans up just far enough to press their foreheads together. "Is this okay?"

Ryan bites his lip briefly and smiles. "Yeah, it's okay."

*

Gerard leaves a bill in Bob's bunk. Two cartons of cigarettes for Gerard's yenta services. Fuck altruism.


End file.
